


A Soul for the Empty

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxy Lalonde is a Broadway star along with her friend and fellow actor Jake English. Her life is exactly the way she has dreamed of ever since she was a child. But, when she starts to fall for one of the stagehands, things get pretty complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soul for the Empty

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story that I really intend to finish. I'm anticipating a lot of chapters because there's a lot I want to do with it.
> 
> This chapter mostly just an introduction, but it helps you understand the setting of the story. I promise I'll get more into the plot in the next couple chapters (and don't worry, it won't take me long to update!).

“Be on in five.”

Everyone around you rushes about as a stage manager calls out. You, instead, take a delicate sip of your martini. You draw back your beverage, sloshing its clear liquid about the glass. People in elegant costumes pass by, obviously in a hurry, dresses flowing and ribbons bouncing in the air. Another sip. Your thin, pale legs remained crossed over a plush couch cushion. This would be just like every other time. You have no reason to rush. More people run by and you throw back your last gulp. A gloved hand comes up to wipe across stunning black lips. It’s showtime, you smirk.

You calmly make your way to a large curtain, donning a lengthy pink dress and feather boa. Just like every other time. As you take your position, the countdown begins. 

5...4...3...2...1...

The curtains rise and you are faced with a crowd of hundreds, maybe thousands, all unable to take their eyes off of you. A soundtrack that you’ve heard more than enough times before starts up and you let out a perfect note. The theater goes wild with applause, as anticipated. I mean, why wouldn’t they cheer?

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and you are the star.  
\--

Broadway had been a dream of yours from a young age. From the day you learned to talk, you’ve been singing. Your mother had always lulled you to sleep with her violin, and one day you decided to join in. She had been so impressed that she signed you up for acting and singing lessons at age 4, followed by dancing at age 6. Your mother knew you would go places.

As you got older, you auditioned for every local and school play. You got main roles in nearly all of them, “nearly” meaning the ones that other girls didn’t put out for. Some people were so desperate for recognition. Not you. Never. Your mother taught you better. She taught you class and grace, not how to slut your way to the top. You would’ve never needed to act in such a grotesque manner anyway. You had real talent and potential, unlike those other vixens who thought that pleasing professors was enough to get them places.

You became so entranced with theater that when you turned sixteen, you begged your mother to take you to the big stage. She of course agreed. That was your first Broadway show, and from then on you made it your life’s goal to end up there under the spotlights. The rest of your teen years and into your twenties you pushed from every angle to have the opportunity to work on that magical set. And hell if you didn’t qualify for it.

In the meantime you did a lot of local plays and such. It was fun, for a while, but you ached to star in the big leagues. It took a couple years for New York City to see your talent, but by the time you turned twenty-three, Broadway had given in and cast you into a play. It was only a minor role, but you didn’t have a care in the world. You’d still be able to make your way to the top, and this was another step up the echeladder. You finally got the ticket you needed to weave your way in.

Despite this part of your life going smoothly, problems started to arise at home. Your mother fell ill a few months into rehearsing. At first it seemed to be nothing serious, but when it didn’t go away things started to get heavy. You went with her to get it checked out and she was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer. The doctors gave her about two, maybe three months left. This tore you apart like you wouldn't believe. Your mother had been your everything from the day you were born and now she had a death sentence. You couldn’t show how upset you were. No, not in front of her. You had to be strong, for both of you.

Those were the hardest two and a half months of your life. It was hard enough working on the performance, but having to take care of your mother alone almost broke you. This was one of the times you really despised your father. Whoever he was. When your mother announced her pregnancy, he threw a fit and abandoned her. He left her all alone with a child to take care of, while he was probably out at strip joints and sleazy motels. What a despicable human being. But, your mother still did her best to raise you right and give you the potential to reach your goals without a man by her side. She was a remarkable woman. It was kind of ironic, having to take care of the woman who raised and protected you your whole life.

She was a proud woman who taught you to pursue your dreams, no matter how impossible they seemed. Your mother was amazing at making the impossible come true, especially in her literature. She wasn’t a well known author, but she deserved to be. She wrote the most vivid fiction you had ever had the pleasure of reading. You always told her the two of you would make an amazing team, with her writing scripts and you acting them out. She would always just chuckle and say something like, “Dialogue isn’t my strong suit, darling.” Your mother was your entire inspiration growing up, so finding out her death was imminent crushed you. Tore you up into tiny little pieces of emotion. But, even though she was so weak, she insisted on coming to the premiere of the show.

You kept insisting she stay in bed, but she wouldn’t have it. She bought a front row ticket, despite it costing her a fortune. She had told you that nothing would stop her from seeing her baby girl touch the sky. It was a teary-eyed debate. In the end, she went to the show and had a marvelous time. It was one of the last ones she would have. Not even a week later, she fell asleep reading Robert Frost and never woke up. You thought that was a perfectly elegant way for her to die. It still hurt, though.

Nothing could mend your shattered soul until a few months later when a Mr. Jake English stepped into the picture. Jake was a fellow actor that you had the pleasure of starring as his love interest in How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying. He played the dashing leading man, J. Pierrepont Finch, as he tried to get through the business world with his trusty little handbook. You played the role of Rosemary Pilkington, the receptionist who caught Finch’s eye. 

Because you were his love interest, the playwright insisted on you two getting to know each other. You hit it off almost instantly. He was a charming young man, and it didn’t take too long for you to become “the best of chums!” as he put it. You found out Jake had grown up on an island near the Philippines with his grandmother. They both lived there happily until he turned twelve, that’s when she passed away. Most of his time there consisted of watching action movies, and when he became older he would go out on adventures in the woods like his movie heroes. Action was his favorite genre, but he liked others too. 

In fact, there wasn’t a single movie he despised. His love for cinema quickly turned into a strong passion for acting in his late teens. He considered himself too dramatic for Hollywood and set his sights on the stage instead. He almost didn’t make the cut, but luckily some playwright liked the spark of light in his eyes and we all know how it goes from there. After getting to know each other, you and Jake became inseparable. 

You two starred in everything together and made your way to the top. Magazines and paparazzi were all over you guys, depicting you as the perfect Broadway couple. You both found it quite humorous. Sure, Jake was an attractive man. He was tan and well-built, plus his facial features were stunning. His raven hair was wild yet clean-cut. His emerald eyes could trap any lady with just a wink. And, despite being raised on an island in the middle of nowhere, he developed a slight british accent and damn it was sexy. 

Next to you, with your freckled baby-face, petite figure, wavy blonde locks and magenta orbs, you two would make an adorable pair. But Jake was your friend and just that, it was silly to think of him as anything else. It soon became an ongoing joke to greet the other by flirting, like a kiss on the cheek, a cheesy pick-up line or a slight grope or two. Other actors found that kind of relationship to be strange, but neither of you cared. You were happy being friends and nothing else.  
\--

You sing your last note and the curtain falls, making the audience erupt in a chorus of claps and chants and whistles. You take in it all, before you’re motioned to walk out onto the stage for your encore. You move elegantly through the red fabric and flash a wide smile before giving a polite courtesy. The crowd goes wild and you know just how much they love you from their cheers. After you rise, you blow them all a kiss and twirl to go backstage. 

Once you enter back the way you came other actors come over to congrat you on a job well done. You smile and laugh and hand out compliments. It wasn’t the best show you’ve ever had, but it was still a success and everyone deserves to know how great they all did. You make some small talk with others until you go back to your dressing room. Before you can even wipe the sweat off your brow there’s a whimsical knock at the door and you are met with a pair of glowing green eyes and a blood red rose. 

“I gotta tell you, Rox, that performance was simply amazing!” he boasts while handing you the flower.

You usually weren’t too keen on receiving bouquets and such, but you make an exception for roses. Jake likes to take advantage of that fact. You happily pluck the rose from his hand and inhale its sweet scent. “Thanks, it’s only the same thing I’ve been performing for weeks!” You roll your eyes and set down his gift.

“There was something about this show though,” here he goes again. Your sarcasm has always passed right through him. You fold your arms and quirk an eyebrow. “A light in your eyes, a skip in your step, something that made this show something to remember!” 

You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. He’s just too sincere. You drop your arms so you can hug him. He awkwardly returns the embrace and you give him a quick peck on the cheek. “You are such a sweetie,” you smile as you let him go. He flushes and scratches the back of his neck, and you giggle at how bashful he can be. The two of you exchange some more compliments about tonight’s performance until all the flattery almost kills you. 

“So, miss Lalonde,” Jake starts and by the tone of his voice you know exactly where he is going. “Found any gentlemen that’ve caught your eye?”

You pick up a glass and are disappointed by the lack of alcohol in it. Sighing to yourself, you mumble, “Jake, I...”

“Or lady! It doesn’t matter. You know I’m cool with all that fooey and whatnot,” he interrupts.

“Jake.” You say more sternly. He tenses, but now knows to let you continue. You look down, “It’s the same-old, same-old.”

He frowns, “Oh, come on, Rox. A pretty gal like yourself can’t remain a bachelorette forever.”

It’s not like you are immune to relationships. You’ve had them before, of course. None of them really meant anything to you, though. They were usually for a month or less with some guy who wasn’t all that into you. Or, who you were on the inside, at least. Boys were only interested in breasts and hips, and if you were lucky, a pretty face. 

It’s a shame that most girls would kill for something like that, men falling all over them. It’s not all it’s worked out to be. You classify yourself as a romantic, someone who needs to be wooed and won’t put out on the first date. All you want is a fairy tale ending. Sadly, most guys are just in it for a quickie and then they’re gone. 

That’s why you’ve agreed that you want to stay as far away from relationships as possible for the time being. You know it’s gonna end with you being kicked out at 2:00am and never seeing them again, just like it always is. You would rather spend your life void than have your heart broken over and over again. The only guy who has honestly cared about you was Jake, and again, thinking of him as anything more than a close friend and co-star was simply silly.

You lift up your head and give your most reassuring smile, “Look, Jakey, you should know it better than anybody.” You stand up and place your hands on your hips for emphasis, “Roxy Lalonde is a proud woman who don’t need no man!” Your silliness causes him to burst out laughing and you feel better already.

“Hah, I guess so.” He remarks after he finishes. “Look, you did a helluva job tonight! Let me take you out for some grub.”

Jake wraps an arm around your shoulder and you grin. “Alright alright sure. But only if you let me get changed, I’m still covered in stage sweat!”

He retracts his arm immediately and laughs despite the look of disgust gracing his features. “Hah, got me there, Rox.” He wipes his hand on his jacket, then continues, “Meet you outside?”

“I’ll totes be there.” You wink and with that, he leaves. Jake is really the greatest friend you could hope to ask for. You remember you need to get ready for dinner and spin towards the dresser, squint at the lights surrounding the mirror, and re-apply a layer of midnight lipstick.


End file.
